Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine

CHAPTER 27: QUENTIN AND SAM

Sitting on the armchair he shared with his skeleton, Quentin's spectral being surged with invigorating energy. This was different from the gradual trickle he'd been receiving.

No, this was a mighty surge of power. He felt his old strength returning. He felt whole. Real. The opposite of a sulking defeated specter.

Honestly, Quentin hadn't felt this robust since he was first let loose on the world back in his auspicious youth. Back when he was alive.

Quentin rose. The Great House was all but his now. He glanced dispassionately down at his skeleton, which leaned back awkwardly in the chair, its bony arms dangling over the armrests.

Quentin cockily smiled down at his rotting vestige. That useless vessel meant nothing now. He would no longer have to endure its company.

He strode to the wall.

That bloated gypsy Sandor had been relieved of his duty. The ever dependable Beth had returned to her station.

Quentin intended to burst through the wall, wanting nothing more than to surprise his dour little jailer by enveloping her in his arms. Announcing the end of their shared imprisonment. He'd relish the shock and hopeless look on her face. He couldn't decide if he wanted to impress or horrify her more.

As he reached his hand out to the wall, he discovered much to his ire that he was still – supernaturally speaking – blocked. He was hit by a nasty jolt. Sort of like something slapping his hand away.

The force even shook the wall.

Apparently, his new-found vigor hadn't gone unnoticed by Beth.

"Quentin," he heard her startled voice from the other side. "What are you doing? You feel different."

Quentin's expression morphed into a wolfish smile.

Despite this disappointing setback, Beth always found new ways to entice him.

Sam Evans was blinded. A strange brilliant white light dazzled his vision. Strangely, it didn't burn his eyes or cause him discomfort in any way. There was something almost heavenly about it.

"Sam." A voice called to him.

Sam looked around, but the confounding light made it hard for him to see anything.

"Sam." A distinctly feminine voice echoed to him again.

"What the blazes?" Sam called out, confused.

"Sam."

He couldn't see the woman. But there was something about her voice.

"Sam."

This time, her voice came to him clear as a bell.

Instantly, Sam recognized it. In fact, he was almost reduced to tears.

"Mollie – is that you?" His own voice wavered now.

A blurry silhouette stepped closer to him through the intense yet soft light. Once Sam's vision finally cleared, he found the approaching figure of a slender young woman, wearing a long light yellow dress.

Her thick auburn tresses fell past her shoulders in glamorous waves. Her soft brown eyes met Sam's lovingly.

"Hello, Sam. It's been a long time."

Sam's eyes widened. "Mollie!"

He rushed to her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He lifted her feet off whatever ground this void had.

This was a miracle. Sam was holding the love of his life. The mother of his only child. His muse. His portrait of her was his absolute favorite out of all of his paintings.

He spun her joyously around, both happily laughing, like when they were young.

"I missed you, darling," Mollie laughed as he spun her around.

"Not nearly as much as I missed you."

Slowly he stopped spinning, placing her feet back to the ground. They were still tightly in each other's arms. Sam longingly gazed into her soft brown eyes. The same eyes she genetically passed down to their daughter.

Mollie tenderly stroked Sam's bearded face. He gently thread his fingers through her soft curls.

"Sam, I'm glad we're together again," she whispered.

They leaned in, their lips softly touched. The kiss started out sweetly. It then turned heated. Sam indulged. It had been so long since he'd kissed the woman he loved.

When they finally broke their kiss, Mollie rested her head on Sam's chest, before dreamily whispering, "So, you definitely missed me, then."

"Darling, I don't care, but..." Sam murmured. "How are we together like this? You're dead."

"You died, too, sweetheart." Mollie broke it gently.

"What?" Sam furrowed his brow. "No – no – I'm not dead."

"I'm afraid that's where you're wrong, Sam." A gruff, masculine voice cut through the light.

"What?"

Oddly, Sam instantly recognized this voice.

The silhouette of a new figure emerged from the light. Sam and Mollie watched as a grizzled damp man, with dangling seaweed clinging to him, came into focus.

"Bill Malloy," Sam marveled. "I hate to be rude, but we're in the middle of something personal."

"You don't know how right you are, Sam," the grizzled sea dog retorted. "Must be nice having such a warm welcome waiting for you on this side. After that fat lunatic jumped me, all I got was my old man giving me a pat on the back."

Sam winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Damn shame."

Bill nodded. "You mean my death?"

Sam braced himself. "Yeah, you're dead, Bill."

"Yes, Sam," said Bill. "Me and Mollie both."

"I really don't understand," Sam said, sounding defeated. "Why am I here with you..."

"There's only one rational explanation for all the dead people and bright lights, you know,," Bill spoke slowly. "You're dead, Sam."

The artist's eyes widened. "Wait! I might just be in a coma or something like that."

"You are dead, darling." Mollie held Sam closer, tightly clutching his shoulders. "Don't you see, we're together now."

"I must've fallen off the wagon," Sam reasoned.

"At your age, it might have turned out the same if you had," Bill said flatly. "No, you're not drunk. You're dead, and it wasn't liquor that got you."

As Bill finished that statement, the heavenly light dissolved around the trio.

When the light faded, Sam found himself in a dark and rustic fishing shack. His dear Mollie still clutching his shoulders.

Bill Malloy and his seaweed were also present.

Sam stared around. "Where are we?"

"Look at the floor," Bill instructed.

Sam dropped his eyes. What he saw truly horrified him. His pale lifeless body laid flat on his back. His eyes were opened, wide, glassy, expressionless.

The sight broke Sam. Mollie lovingly embraced him as he wept.

"I know it's rough, Sam," Bill said consolingly. "No one ever expects it when it happens to them. If it's any consolation, you are no longer burdened by your demons. Especially with the bottle. You'll no longer feel pain. Best of all, you are with your wife and your old friends."

Holding Mollie tighter, Sam asked with a clogged voice, "How did it happen?"

"That man Fenn-Gibbon is a warlock," Mollie murmured over his shoulder. "He put you under a spell. Your poor heart couldn't take the strain."

Sam shut his eyes over Mollie's shoulder. "Yes, I think I remember."

"It shouldn't be too long before they find your body," Bill put in. "Cocksure old bastard didn't even try to hide you."

Sam held Mollie closer. "Fenn-Gibbon dragged my body here?"

"You came here to finish the portrait," Mollie reminded. "Fenn-Gibbon took what he wanted and left."

Sam pulled back slightly, closely facing his wife, looking her in the eyes.

"Where's Maggie?"

"She's not far from here," Mollie replied. "I'll take you to her."

On the frigid dock, with the foggy sea before them, Maggie stood in shock as the doctor's words sunk in.

"Pop is missing." Maggie finally said aloud.

"I was going to check in with him about three hours ago," Dr. Woodard explained. "But I cannot find him. I spoke with him on the phone this morning. He was irritable, short-tempered even. Has he been that way with you?"

"Yes," Maggie replied in a small voice.

"Mr. Evans has been goin' through a rough patch," Willie filled in.

Dr. Woodard furrowed his distinguished brow.

"I suppose he may have fallen off the wagon." The doctor's voice misted in the icy air. "I'm sorry, Maggie. Flu season was bad this year. I haven't been able to check in on Sam as much as I'd hoped."

"That Fenn-Gibbon. He's the one responsible for this." Maggie bit off, her eyes darkening.

"Yes, Burke expressed his suspicions about that man as well." Dr. Woodard nodded.

"Let's go look for him," Maggie said a little frantic. "He's not drunk, I'm sure of it. He's under a spell. This is not like his other disappearing acts."

With Mollie and Bill by his side, Sam watched Maggie hurrying off with Willie and Dave.

"Oh, Maggie," the father said guiltily, rubbing his forehead. "After everything I put her through, she still stands up for me. I'll have to break this to her gently."

"You're going to gently tell your daughter that her father was killed by a warlock?" Bill looked at him side long.

"It's a fantastic situation, I admit," Sam amended. "But Maggie believes in ghosts. She mingles with them – sort of. She'll want to know that I'm okay."

"She's mingled with ghosts from other centuries," Mollie pointed out. "She didn't know them when they were alive. She didn't love them. Or mourn them. You are her Pop. If you show yourself to her like this, she will fall apart.

"I passed on long ago," she continued sadly. "After the light called me home, I trusted you to raise our daughter to be an amazing woman."

"Hell of a woman, more like," Bill added. "She's seen things that would break harder men than you or I."

"I know," Sam said defensively. "But I can't just leave her. Besides, I have to warn her about Fenn-Gibbon."

"You will do nothing of the kind," Bill dismissed. "If you are shoving off with your wife, then just leave your daughter to us. We don't need her flying off the handle, taking on a warlock half-cocked."

Sam glared resentfully as the seaweed-leaden seaman. Malloy however didn't seem the slightest bit fazed.

"Oh, what do you think Maggie's going to do once you're done explaining how you died?"

"That's why I need to warn her," Sam defended.

"Fenn-Gibbon doesn't care about Maggie," Bill stated. "She doesn't have anything he wants. I'm not saying he wouldn't crush her like a bug if she got in his way, mind you. But she's basically worthless to him. Now imagine if that same girl shows up at his front door with a pitchfork! He killed you for a painting. What do you think he's capable of when he's defending himself?"

"The warlock is that dangerous?" Mollie asked.

Bill thoughtfully rubbed his scruffy beard. "Truth be told, we're dealing with two other witches, a Victorian specter who brainwashes children and time shadows. Don't ask about the last one, it's complicated."

"Shit." Sam couldn't help but be a little impressed by the sheer amount of mystical misfortune the Collinses attracted.

"Can you really guarantee our daughter's safety?" Mollie asked Bill.

"I can't rightfully guarantee my own safety, Mollie, but we're trying," Bill bluntly answered. "It's the fat new boy that's throwing us off right now."

"Where is Victor Fenn-Gibbon," Sam growled resentfully.

"You need to stay clear of him," Mollie stressed.

"Why?" Sam demanded. "I'm dead. He can't hurt me anymore."

"Actually, he can," Bill said seriously. "He's on another level compared to Roger's ex and the dandy. Even the colonials stay clear of him."

"But what's all this for!?" Sam huffed. "Why did I have to die?"

"It's complicated," Bill admitted. "But we think we have it figured out. To begin with, there's that Victorian specter that your warlock seems obsessed with."

"Yes," Sam guessed. "Quentin Collins."

Outside Quentin's cell, Beth pressed her hands against the wall. She felt him there. He was leaning against the wall, just as she was. Her blue eyes widened in alarm. There was no doubt about it, Quentin was rejuvenated. He felt strong.

Despite the barrier of paneling and brick, Beth felt Quentin's touch.

It was a tantalizing, yet, terrifying sensation.

"Always playing hard to get, aren't you, Beth?" Quentin said silkily. "But I do admire the restraints you put on this room. Not bad for a woman who struggled so much with restraint in the past."

Silent condemnation was her only response.

"But I always knew there was something special about you."

She still gave no reply. She hardened her face.

"I'll never understand why you took my family's side in all of this," Quentin went on. "I mean, yes, I am cursed, and I will cull the worst of the filth from my family. And, of course, our relationship did end horribly. But my family played its part in all of that as well. Meanwhile, Petofi's evil stands head and shoulders above my own, darling. Not only will he attack the remnants of my wretched family, he will target the spirits as well.

"Even your pretty little neck, Beth, may wind up on the chopping block." Quentin paused for effect. "You and I have always been stronger together. Stop letting them come between us. You stayed here for me. Not for my family or that French trollop leading them. Let me out. We will face him together."

Beth's eyes were as hard as granite.

"You don't want out so you can confront Petofi," she said bitingly. "You want out so you can warp this house and that boy to suit your own delusions."

Quentin was silent for a moment. He then responded with, "I know that's not the way you really feel, Beth. But very well. I will get out of here regardless. And when I do, I have a strong suspicion you will stay by my side. Always and forever."

On the docks, Sam gazed out at the foggy sea. Mollie and Bill stood on either side of him.

Dark winter clouds obscured the moon and stars. Mollie and Bill's translucent illumination looked surreal in the misty gloom of night. It was even more surreal when Sam realized his own body was glowing. Does it still count as a body anymore?

Though, Sam thought it could be worse. I could be caked in seaweed like Bill.

"You have a decision to make, Sam." The painter turned to face the sailor. "Do you want to go with your wife – spend the rest of eternity free from want, pain and fear?"

Mollie tenderly took his hand into her own. "And be with me?"

"Honestly, I'm still sussing out the part where I'm not alive anymore," Sam said frankly.

"I bet the art scene is really hopping over there," Bill filled in. "All the best artists are dead as they say."

Mollie cleared her throat, interrupting the old sailor. "It's peaceful in a invigorating kind of way. You're warm and safe, but also inspired. It could be a beautiful paradise one moment, or a vast avant-garde mountain range the next."

Bill cut in again. "The gist is your happy and surrounded by loved ones who died before you."

Sam slid his gaze to Mollie. "I'll bet heaven was a dump before you got there."

"I think it could use someone like you, actually." She clasp his other hand. "I want to be with you again. It's been so long."

"It's been forever." Sam gently pulled her into his arms.

He indulged in their embrace.

Still holding Mollie to him, Sam slid his attention to Bill.

"If its so perfect, what brings you down to earth?"

"Unfinished business," Bill answered gruffly.

Holding Mollie tighter, a torn look haunted Sam's transparent bearded face.

"Yeah, I have a similar dilemma."

For several long cold hours, a search party consisting of the police and a few kind locals searched for Sam Evans.

Maggie checked every liquor store in town. When that turned out fruitless, she decided to check his favorite spots to paint. Even though a rational part of her mind argued that Pop wouldn't be out painting at this ungodly hour, Maggie reasoned that he might be so out of it, he'd just wandered off to someplace he found familiar.

She went to a nearby park, the beach, even Widows Hill.

Regardless, Maggie always turned up empty handed. She eventually reconvened with the search party near the docks.

"We haven't found any sign of Sam yet, Maggie," Sheriff Patterson reported apologetically. "But if anything that's good. He's probably holed up somewhere nice and cozy. We'll keep on searching though, as long as need be."

The news made Maggie heartsick.

Willie, who had agreed to escort Dr. Woodard through some of the seedier areas surrounding the docks, noticed Maggie's fatigue.

"C'mon, Maggie, I'll take ya home," Willie said kindly, grabbing her hand.

"I don't want to go home! I want to find Pop!"

But Maggie was so tired she could barely stand. She wobbled on her feet. Willie grabbed her to prevent an ungraceful tumble.

Dr. Woodard leaned forward, peering closely into Maggie's eyes. "State that you're in, if you keep running off on your own, we'll likely end up searching for you next."

Without another word, Willie half-carried, half-walked Maggie back to his truck. She was too tired to protest much. She could barely keep herself awake during the bumpy ride home.

Through the rear view mirror, Willie noticed Dr. Woodard following them in his sedan.

In a typical small town manner, it didn't take them long to arrive at the Evans Cottage.

Willie quickly got out of the truck. He rounded to the passenger door and gently dragged the half conscious Maggie out of the truck, supporting her as she stumbled her way to the front door.

Dr. Woodard parked his car behind Willie's truck and quickly got out, following after the couple. Shutting the cottage's door behind him, the doctor even switched on the lights as Willie laid Maggie down on the couch.

"Willie, I'm not tired," Maggie groggily protested. "I want to find Pop."

"Your Pop will be fine," Dr. Woodard countered. "You need to rest."

"No, I have to find him," Maggie said tiredly.

Her eyelids were heavy. She couldn't keep them open.

When they finally closed, Maggie instantly fell into a deep slumber. Willie waited a moment before picking her up in his arms. He relocated her to her bedroom. As he ever so gently laid her down on her bed, she murmured, "Pop."

Her eyes were still closed.

Willie stood by her bed, staring down at her sadly.

"Willie," Dr. Woodard whispered from outside the bedroom.

Willie quietly stepped out of the room and just as quietly shut the door.

"You're not much better off than she is," said Dr. Woodard. "Stay in the house and keep an eye on her. I'll rejoin the search party."

"Mr. Evans has got to be found, Doc," Willie said a little desperately. "He ain't himself."

"We will find him." Dr. Woodard dropped his gaze. "I just hope we find him in one piece."

On that sobering note, Dr. Woodard made his leave.

Willie quietly checked on Maggie, finding her completely knocked out. The day had really caught up with her. As she lay sleeping, Willie slipped out of his shoes and placed them on the floor by the end of the bed.

Willie creaked into the living room and grabbed the Afghan off the couch. And lovingly covered his girlfriend with the blanket.

He quietly left her room and once again gently shut the door.

Alone in the living room, Willie paced, absently rubbing the back of his head, his mind was racing, but he was too tired to think straight.

He occasionally peered through the windows, never finding anything but a deserted frosted street.

Tired of pacing, Willie slumped on the couch.

Rubbing his eyelids, he fought off his own fatigue. He waited for the phone to ring. Or a knock on the door.

Maggie stirred in her sleep, groaning. She shook her head side to side, kicking her legs.

"It's amazing how your sleeping habits never changed. Ever since you were a kid, you always used to fidget like this whenever you were having a bad dream."

At the sound of his voice, Maggie immediately opened her eyes.

"When your dreams turned to nightmares, I always stepped in and took care of you. It was the least I could do since you'd spend most of your life taking care of me."

Maggie shot up in bed, the Afghan partially covering her.

Her Pop stood by the end of her bed, his furry face beaming at her proudly.

"Pop," Maggie murmured, feeling relieved. "You're alright."

"I suppose I am," said Sam.

Maggie rubbed her eyes, clearing the fog of exhaustion from her vision. There was something different about him.

He was glowing.

"You – you look different."

"Yes, I suppose I do." Sam smiled sheepishly.

"What happened to you?" Maggie asked softly.

"Things will be different from now on," Sam said gently.

"Different?" Maggie murmured.

"Yeah."

"Pop..."

"Maggie, I want you to know how proud of you I am," Sam said lovingly. "You're everything a father could possibly hope for in a daughter."

"And for a mother."

Maggie shift her gaze to her left, where her mother Mollie slid down beside her. She affectionately stroke her daughter's hair.

"Mommy." Maggie noticed she was glowing too.

"You have grown into such a lovely young woman, sweetheart," Mollie beamed.

"You need to be strong, Maggie." Sam sat himself down at the right side of the bed.

He took her hand in his. Maggie couldn't feel the touch of his hand. Only a light tingling.

She could only stare at him wordlessly. Mollie still lovingly stroked her tresses.

"We'll always be a part of you, Maggie," the mother said softly.

"You were always the best part of me," the father added affectionately. "We love you, darling."

Willie laid back on the couch, resting his head on the back cushion like a pillow. He fell into an uneasy, dreamless slumber.

The phone rang loudly on the end table, instantly snapping him awake. He snatched it up.

"H-Hello?"

"Is that you, Willie?"

"Yeah."

"It's Sheriff Paterson. This is difficult to say, but I won't keep you in suspense. We found Sam..."

Willie listened to the sheriff's explanation while his mind went numb. He'd have to tell Maggie the horrible news when she woke up.

That made him feel even more lost.

He loved her more than anything. Why did he have to be the one to deliver this heartbreaking news? Why must he be the one to shatter her world? Willie was used to doing the jobs others didn't want to do. But he'd never resented it more than right now.

After about half an hour's worth of false starts, Willie finally went into Maggie's room.

Stepping up to the end of her bed, Willie watched as she slept, covered in the Afghan he'd brought her.

He still couldn't decide if he should let her sleep or if he should wake her. He knew which option was best for her health. And he also knew Maggie would want to know as soon as possible.

Willie braced himself for what was to come.

Maggie's life would be in shambles once he told her what happened.

Willie felt sick.

He wished he'd never come to Collinsport. Maggie at least would be better off and maybe Mr. Evans would still be alive.

The eyes of the woman he loved fluttered open. She saw Willie awkwardly looming over her bed.

"M-Maggie," he tried to begin.

"Willie." She sat up, the Afghan slipping down to her lap. "Pop – he's with my mother now. He's not here anymore."

Mournful tears slid out of her eyes.

Willie joined her on the bed, holding her tightly as she wept into his chest.

Sam stood on the snowy hill close to the Evans cottage, overlooking the sea. Surrounded by the salty air he used to despise.

Mollie stood by his side holding his hand tenderly. "Are you ready to rest?"

"God yes!" Sam admitted.

Mollie smiled tenderly. "I can already hear the 'but' coming."

Sam almost felt guilty for what he was about to say. "Darling, I would give just about anything to be with you again."

His wife squeezed his hand encouragingly. "Anything but Maggie's safety, you mean."

Sam struggled for words for a moment before adding, "I just know somehow she needs me more than ever."

"I guess that puts you ahead of me." Bill materialized before them.

He had left them earlier when they met with Maggie. He hadn't returned until now.

"What are you talking about?" Mollie asked.

Bill's gruff demeanor seemed to dissolve, leaving a shockingly contrite and earnest looking man. "I just got done with an emergency meeting with the bigwigs up at Collinwood."

Sam raised a transparent eyebrow at that statement. "Were they writing you up for all of the seaweed?"

Bill flashed a crooked grin. "Nah, the Collins matriarchs like how I look just fine. It was you they wanted to talk about."

"Really?" Sam grew concerned. "What do they want?"

Bill's contrite serious tone returned. "You never said Maggie gave you Josette's medallion."

"Why should that matter?" The painter interrupted.

"Because its a magic medallion that's suppose to stop witches," Bill explained.

"Tell her to get her money back," Sam bitterly advised.

Bill shook his head. "This is important, Sam. That medallion was packing every ounce of magical oomph their family had. If Fenn-Gibbon could get to you, then we're in even more trouble than we thought."

"And you want Maggie wrapped up in all of this!" Sam was furious.

"She was wrapped up in this from the start." Bill was matter-of-fact. "Nothing to be done about it now."

"Nothing short of destroying him, you mean?" Mollie asked.

"Well, now, that's what the big talk was about," Bill admitted. "Seems if you can't trust your defenses you call in the Calvary." The sea ghost smirked. "Almost Napoleonic isn't it?"

"My husband can't ride a horse," Mollie interrupted.

"Lucky you, we need a painter," Bill answered. "Same reason Fenn-Gibbon needed him, too, I suppose."

"He needed a puppet to paint for him," Sam said harshly.

Bill shook his head. "He needed an artist. Someone with a soul who could connect with the subject. Fenn-Gibbon might be strong, but he doesn't have an ounce of empathy. He can't create anything. And according to a French lady I've come to know, he may not be the master of that portrait."

"Is that why he killed my husband?" Mollie asked.

Sam stepped between the two other spirits. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this. But I think it's time I met with the bigwigs up at Collinwood."

Next Chapter: The Ghosts in Time and Shadow